


Where Are You ?

by SlaveToGravity



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Cyber Bullying, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insults, Triggers, Where Are You from Tyler Joseph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToGravity/pseuds/SlaveToGravity
Summary: This is a line, and this line is mine.Kind people are on the + sign, mean people are on the - sign, it's as simple as that.But, Josh thinks, where are the victims here ?And you, where are you ?





	Where Are You ?

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning : Suicide (implied), Self-harm (implied), bullying.  
> Please, be safe.

           This line on his forearm was his, his and only his. His creation, his mark, his own demonstration of his choices, his decisions, the ways he went through and the ones he’s still passing, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast. This line, drawn with a pen, with the lead of his favorite pen, being too deep for only ink to be engraved in his skin, was the perfect metaphor for everything going on in his life. He had one, only one, a blue scar under his wrist, always shining with every lights, from natural to artificial ones. He loved it. He loved the line, the thin and almost invisible light, decorating his pale skin. He didn’t need to draw more, he didn’t feel like it. He liked the way it was straight, the way it wasn’t covering his entire wrist but just the inside, in a way he could be only one looking at it during school. He loved it too much for his own sake, but he didn’t care. He loved it anyway. It was his only friend, he thinks.

 

          Tyler never regrets his actions. His words he writes on the Internet, the words of black and virtual ink he types on comments, on private messages, on anonymous conversations. “ _Kys”_ is his favorite, the easy one. Short letters, not taking too much time to type, he can easily throw it at anyone in the matter of seconds. If a person annoys him, he writes a longer version, more efficient and harder to read aloud. He likes this one, he uses it when, really, his own mind feels like dying. He writes it with his thin fingers, types it on the black keyboard of his white laptop, cheap one with only an Internet connection and a few games he found for free on Steam. He always types those comments at night, when everyone’s supposed to sleep, when everything is supposed to feel safer, because sleep erases all your bad ideas, all your fears, your anxiety, your depression. That’s what Tyler thinks anyway. That’s why he likes to type the meanest comments he can at night, to break the safe zone of everyone anonymously. He giggles, sometimes, when he feels lighter in heart. He likes when pain is imposed on someone else. No one knows it’s him.

 

            Josh received, one day, a message. The message was short, with one word -is it even a word ? And an username he didn’t recognize. He took his time to understand the meaning of those three letters. He typed them on Google and finally found it. A shortened word, as coward as stupid, used in many ways. He quickly deleted the message and tried to forget about it, going on his morning routine once again, tired. He looked at his watch then, looking at his other arm, he looked at his cut. Everything was at its place, clean and simple. Everything was, once again, so pure. Josh smiled and walked to school alone.

 

           Tyler thinks that time passes too fast, that time seems to fly when he finally sleeps. He dreams of a better life, one that wouldn’t be boring or humiliating, one where he wouldn’t have to bring so much hate with him to feel better. It’s not that he hates it, it’s that he kind of, sometimes, wish to do something else, something more useful and interesting. He sometimes dreams about being a better person, a better brother, an astronaut or a singer, with true writing skills, an incredible one who could play so many instruments like piano or ukulele, maybe the drums. He would sing endlessly until his voice is broken at the end of every new show then would sleep and start again. It would never be the same, always so new and fantastic. Instead of trying, Tyler takes the easy way out of boringness and uses his writing skills with meaner words, brewing, spitting venomous words and breaking lives. He likes it, he thinks. He doesn’t really know. And doesn’t really care anyway.

 

         Josh received many other messages after that. All hateful ones, from the same person, with the same pseudonym, with the same word, sometimes not shortened like usual. He tried not to read them, he used to receive the same before, but it didn’t work correctly this time. The messages soon became too much and started to show everywhere. On his social accounts more often than not. And what were little messages became long sentences, not only from one person but from new ones, ones he knew, ones he saw on a daily basis. He tried to suppress his social accounts and create new ones under new names, but nothing worked. They followed him, followed his entire being. They insulted more and more, and the old messages of the first person became lost in an ocean of mean words? No one knew him personally but they all liked it, all insulting him again and again. “ _Kys_ ” became the simple word, the one he missed the most. Every word became worst than the other and soon, Josh couldn’t see other messages. He suppressed all his accounts and never created others. He thought that, maybe, it could work for him. He looked at his thin cut and cried. One wasn’t as graceful as he thought. He needed another one.

 

         Tyler looses everything. He looses his passion, he looses his desires, he looses everything as his creation became wild. He, maybe, starts to regret what he started one excessively lonely night. What was only one little message became two, then three, then four, and he soon lost the count as he was writing and writing and writing, sometimes thinking about what he would write the next day. He tries to remember how he found the social accounts of his old victim but he can’t remember how. He just knows that, maybe, just maybe, creating something so stupid wasn’t the best idea. He sobs as his sees his old messages, all saved as screenshots in his cheap laptop’s short memory. He suddenly wants to erase them all.

 

           The messages became audible words too quickly. Every face looking at him was spewing awful words, the ones written, he remembered, on his social accounts before. He listened to them everyday, listened to their terrible words, their insults, the ones telling him how ugly, stupid, useless, retarded he was. _Whore_ , he didn’t know where that came from. _Shithead_ , yet he was the victim here. _Cocksucker_ , he never heard of this one before. _Faggot_ , it hurt too much when even him couldn’t accept the fact that he was gay. _Waste_ , he never was an object. The words became too much, his ears couldn’t hear anything else. He tried to block them, but the pain was always there, in his mind, his ears couldn’t run away from the mean words, and his pale and shaking fingers couldn’t stop the sounds around him. So, one day, he looked at his two thin and blue cuts and thought that two wasn’t harmonizing enough. More would be better. So he did create more of them.

 

           When Tyler finally hears of the suicide of one of his comrades, he feels nothing. At first. Then, when he hears about cyber bullying, he starts to worry. That’s when they show everyone the picture of Josh Dun that Tyler fully regrets his actions. He sees himself alone, at night, facing his screen, writing so much bad words he loves. He sees himself typing them, typing slowly, then fast, faster and faster, with a rage he didn’t have at first. He doesn’t know why he did it, he just knows that he felt great at first. They ask everyone if they participated and, surprisingly, many children with Josh’s age look down, ashamed. They didn’t know him, Tyler thinks. But he neither. He looks down, too. When they ask everyone what happened, they all say the same thing. _I didn’t know this would turn that way_. Tyler says it, too, but doesn’t go further. He doesn’t say that he’s the one who started it. He doesn’t say that he’s the one who has all the messages saved on his laptop. He doesn’t say that he’s the one who wrote so much hateful messages to feel better about himself, in a fucked-up way he sure regrets. He thinks about the life he cut short, the life he destroyed with only three letters. He thinks about the parents, the siblings, all here to listen to the children who did this, and a wave of shame hits him, hard. He sees Josh’s photo and, as he listens to Josh’s siblings’ loud cries and Josh’s parents muffled speech, he learns that Josh was kind, cute, affectionate, warm, welcoming of everyone, a good student and a perfect drummer. Tyler thinks that Josh could have helped him with the drums.

 

           Josh cut too much. He cut too deep, too strong. He couldn’t see his original cut, he couldn’t see it under the blood covering his arm. He couldn’t spot the only line he liked, the only one he did as a reminder that he went through the first attack, that he survived mentally and physically. He couldn’t see anymore. He just knew he lost, this time, against an army he couldn’t defeat. He drew too much imperfect lines and lost, lost blood, lost hope, lost a battle and a war. There was an itch under his skin and, suddenly, nothing. He thinks, for a moment, that maybe he could have been friend with the first person who messaged him. They would have played together, they would have smiled, laughed. But, sadly, they were in the wrong side of the line he drew on his arm. He sighs and wonders where he is. Because mean people are on the - sigh. Kind people are on the + sigh. But where are the victims in the story ?

 

And you, where are you ?

**Author's Note:**

> Please, if something like that happens to you or someone you know, call someone or talk about it to someone, but don't stay silent. Please. Stay safe.
> 
> Wattpad : Calixxe
> 
> Stay safe, stay alive.


End file.
